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Saturday, June 10—New York, JFK Airport
“Good Morning, ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking. I’m glad to inform you we’re about to take off. The weather’s clear today and we should be able to land in San Francisco right on time. I wish you a pleasant flight.”
I relax back in my seat, relieved to hear we’re on schedule. I don’t have much of a buffer as it is—if I want to get to the winery before the ceremony starts, everything needs to go smoothly. I just wish I weren’t trapped on a plane for six hours with only my crazy thoughts to keep me company. My body might start a rebellion. I haven’t slept in a day, and the idea of crashing Jake’s wedding is pumping so much adrenaline in me, I’m ready to explode. I feel worse than a beer can in an automatic shaker. I grab the armrest as the plane gathers speed on the runway and takes off.
As soon as the seatbelt sign switches off, I fish in my bag for a notepad and a pen. I like to organize my thoughts in writing. When I have a speech to give, I always prefer to follow a script. Speaking off the cuff makes me nervous, so I start jotting down some marry-me-instead speech ideas.
Dear Jake,
Mmm, I’m not really writing a letter, though.
Jake,
Yeah, that’s better. A strong, assertive start.
Jake,
I’ve known you my entire life and I’ve been in love with you for most of my adult life.
Adult life? Who says adult life? It’s not romantic enough. I need to remind myself I’m not writing a harangue but an undying love declaration.
Jake,
I’m just a girl standing in front of a boy…
Overkill? Maybe I should keep it simpler and less cheesy.
Jake,
Ditch the biatch and marry me instead!
Short, concise, says all one needs to know. Pity I can’t really use it.
***
By the time we land in San Francisco, I’ve reached speech draft number eighteen and I’ve still no clue what I’m going to say to Jake. On the other hand, my brain’s positively fried. As I don’t have to claim any luggage—I’m traveling light—I head straight to the car rental to pick up my car.
At the concierge, there’s a bit of a line—five people before me in total. Damn. I hate waiting in line. Especially after the traveling and lack of sleep. I hope all the good cars won’t be gone by the time my turn arrives. The clerk seems a super slow and fastidious one. It takes her forty-five minutes to sort through the customers before she finally gets to me.
“Good morning. I need your name, driving license, and credit card, please.”
“I’m Gemma Dawson; I’ve made an online reservation.”
“Yes, I have your booking in the server for a three-day rental. Is that correct?”
“Correct.”
“Just a second.” She types away at her keyboard. “Would you like to add insurance, ma’am?”
“Yes, please.”
“All right, your credit card has already been charged for the rental amount when you booked online. I’ll add insurance and charge a deposit fee of five hundred dollars. The deposit won’t be withdrawn from your account, but it’ll be on hold, meaning it won’t be available for you to spend. Once you return the car, the amount will be made available to you in two business days to a week. Is that okay with you?”
“Yeah, sure.” Deposit, plus insurance, plus the rental itself, plus the plane tickets. These will max out my credit card. I should have brought more cash.
“Okay, the credit card’s taken care of. You can have it back.” She slides it across the counter. “I just need to input the last few details for the insurance…”
“Sure.”
“Oh.”
Oh? What is she oh-ing about? I want ‘very well’ or ‘here are your keys’, not ‘oh.’
“Is there a problem?” I ask, on edge. This is taking way too long.
“I’m afraid so, madam. I apologize; I should’ve checked before. Your driver’s license appears to have expired.”
“What do you mean, ‘expired’? That’s impossible!”
“Madam, it says here it expired a month ago.”
I check the expiration date. “Oh, gosh!” My palms get clammy at once.
“Have you been driving with this?”
“No, no. I live in London. Nobody drives there.”
“A U.K. driving license would be fine too.”
“I don’t have a U.K. driving license; I’d never be able to drive on the wrong side of the road with no casualties.”
“If you don’t have a valid license, I can’t rent you a car.”
“But I need to go to Napa! How will I get there without a car?”
Why is this happening to me? Today of all days.
“I’m sure you’ll find a cab outside. It shouldn’t cost you more than the rental. I’ll need your credit card back to issue a refund.”
“Here.” I take the card out of my wallet and pass it to her.
A minute later, she hands it back. “The refund has been issued and the funds will be available to you in two business days to a week.”
“Two business days?” I exclaim, bewildered. “You mean to say that my card’s still maxed out?”
“If today’s charge maxed it out, yes. It will stay that way until Tuesday at the very least.”
“Can’t you issue a refund in cash?”
“No, madam, we’re not an A.T.M.”
“So now I don’t have a car, and you’ve taken the money to pay for the cab. What am I supposed to do?”
“There’s a train to the city, and I’m sure you’ll be able to find a bus to Napa, but we’re not a tourist office. Now, I kindly need you to step aside so I can serve our next customer. Have a nice day.”
“You too,” I say. Rot in hell, I think.
***
Two trains, three buses, and four hours later I finally arrive in Yountville, the town in Napa where my final bus stops. With all the connections, I barely managed to close my eyes for half an hour here and there. I’m exhausted. But I’m not giving up. I’m a woman on a mission.
I look around the deserted bus stop to see if I can find a taxi station. Jake’s getting married in some sort of fancy castle in the area, and I need someone to take me there. Yountville looks like a cross between an Old West outpost, a French country town, and a Disney park—thanks to a garden of stone mushrooms on the side of the main road. Maybe tapping one would turn them into the cutesy trolls from Frozen.
Mushroom trolls aside, the town looks desolate. No cars zooming on the street, no passersby, no one. The only open place seems to be a red brick building with an ivy-covered wall that looks like a shopping mall. I head there to ask for some information and enter a chocolate shop with the cutest truffles you’ll ever see on display. A nice looking girl is standing behind the counter leafing through a magazine. She looks up as a bell above the door chimes, announcing my arrival.
“Hello. How may I help you today? Are you looking for a present?”
“Err, no. Actually, I was wondering where I could find a cab.”
“Oh.”
Another oh. I don’t like ohs.
“You won’t be lucky today,” she says. “It’s wedding season, and all the taxis are working as shuttle services, booked way in advance. You’ll hardly find one passing by.”
“But how do people get to weddings if they don’t have a car?”
“Ah, well. Usually, transportation’s arranged by the bride and groom. Are you going to a wedding?”
“Yes, at the Castello di Amorosa.”
“What hotel are you staying in?”
“I’m not exactly staying in a hotel. I just arrived.”
She gives me a puzzled look.
“I wasn’t supposed to come,” I explain. “I changed my mind at the last minute, but I need to get there quickly. The wedding starts in one hour.”
“You’re going dressed like that?” she asks even more suspiciously, narrowing her eyes at me.
I stare down at my crumpled blouse, jeans, and traveling flats. “Yes. I’m going dressed like this because, guess what, I’m not a guest. Okay? I’m not even invited if you really must know.” All the stress, the fatigue of the past twenty-four hours, is finally bubbling out. The shaken beer can has been opened. “But I need to get to that wedding before it starts. And I need to get there fast as it’s my intention to steal the groom before he gets married. So if you could please tell me if there are any means of transportation I could use to get there, I’d be eternally in your debt.”
The girl claps her hands and squeals, “You should’ve told me that in the first place. Nothing this exciting has ever happened to me.” I refrain from pointing out that nothing’s really happening to her and let her babble on. “You’re going to be the talk of the town. Stealing the groom, like in the movies. This is so romantic!”
“So, can you help me?”
“Of course. I’m Jody, nice to meet you.”
“Gemma.” I shake her hand.
“Let me call my brother. He has to go there to deliver some hay; there’s a pretty farm near the castle. I’ll see if he can give you a ride.”
***
“Are you all right back there?” Jody’s brother, Mike, shouts from the cab of his tractor half an hour later.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” I shout back. At least as fine as I’ll ever be riding on the back of a noisy tractor, perched on a stack of hay bales. It turns out Jody’s brother drives a one-seater tractor.
If this was a chick flick, I’d be thoroughly enjoying watching the adventures of the female lead as she struggles to reach her one true love. But I’ve never been more aware of how much TV can make anything appear cool, when it’s not. Like riding on the back of a tractor. And this not being a movie, I’m not even sure it won’t all have been for nothing.
As the castle gets closer, I worry less about if I’m going to get there in time, and more about what Jake’s reaction will be. Does he still love me? What will he say? Will we look into each other’s eyes and run away into the sunset, holding hands? I hope he’ll look me only in the eyes, as the rest of my body can’t be much to look at right now. I probably smell too, and the hayride isn’t helping.
The tractor stops. “All right,” Mike shouts, killing the engine. “We’re here. I can’t go up the hill with this, but there’s the parking lot, and the entrance is just behind it.”
I hop off.
“You need help with the bag?” Mike asks.
“No, I’m fine, thank you,” I say, pulling my trolley bag off the hay. “Thanks again! You saved my life.”
“Good luck,” Mike yells, before restarting the tractor and blowing a dark cloud of exhaust on me. Just about all the freshening up I need.
I check the time on my phone; it’s already past six. The ceremony must be underway. There goes my plan of a discreet talk before everything started. I guess it’ll be “burst inside and yell in the middle of the ceremony” instead. I hurry up the hill, dragging my hand language behind me, and reach the castle’s entrance.
There’s a guy guarding the door.
“I’m sorry, madam, we’re closed for a private event today.”
“Yes, I’m here for the wedding,” I say nonchalantly.
The guy eyes me suspiciously. “You have an invitation?”
“Sure,” I lie, and open my trolley to pretend to look for it inside. “I can’t seem to find it right now… I’m already late. Is there any chance you could let me pass? The ceremony must’ve started by now.”
“I’m sorry, madam, I need to see an invitation before I can let you through.”
“Sure, I’ll find it. I’m sure it’s here somewhere.” I try to appear calm and unconcerned, but inside I’m panicking. What if this guy doesn’t let me in? Will I be on the other side of the wall while Jake says, “I do”? How pathetic would that be? No, it can’t happen. I came here from the other side of the world; I won’t have this stupid, sorry excuse for a bouncer keep me out. I need a distraction; just a few seconds to have him drop his guard so I can slip through the door.
I’m still rummaging inside my luggage when an idea hits me. I position the trolley bag so that the wheels are facing downhill and push it. The bag rolls down the slope, sprawling some of my clothes along the way. I yell in surprise and bouncer guy instinctively runs after the rolling bag. As soon as he turns his back, I duck inside the castle.
I run down a random corridor, having no idea where I’m going or where the ceremony’s being held. Someone shouts behind me, but I don’t turn around. I keep running through a pair of wooden doors, under an arcade, and through another door, until I find myself in a square courtyard crowded with many elegantly-laid round tables. They must be for the wedding reception. I’m getting closer, but where is the ceremony?
“You stop right there, miss,” bouncer guy yells from under the arcade. He’s running toward me at a menacingly fast pace.
A bunch of closed doors overlooks the courtyard. I slalom through the tables and launch myself at the door straight ahead of me, bursting inside just as bouncer guy catches up with me. I’ve made it into a frescoed room full of people.
Someone’s speaking.
“Should anyone here present know of any reason why this couple should not be joined in matrimony, speak now or forever hold your peace…”
I made it. I’m in.
“Gotcha.” Bouncer guy grabs my elbow forcefully.
“STOP!” I yell. “You have to stop! Let me go. Let me go.”
Bouncer guy has grabbed me from behind, lifting me from the floor, and he’s carrying me outside while I’m kicking my legs furiously in the air. “Stop!” I scream again. “You have to stop. I speak! I want to speak now! STOP!”
“Gemma?”
The groom turns toward me and the entire room falls silent. I freeze, one leg kicked out in midair. If ever someone could master the make-you-feel-like-the-only-person-in-the-room stare, Jake was your man. Suddenly, I don’t seem able to talk anymore.